


The Task at Hand

by Mystic_Harley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 02:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18929914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystic_Harley/pseuds/Mystic_Harley
Summary: With only a day before the first task, Hermione's left all on her own for the day to think things over.





	The Task at Hand

24 hours before the first task. Hermione had slept fitfully that night, nightmares of Harry stepping out in front of a loud crowd of jeering and screaming people, staring up against a hungry dragon with a scared yet determined look on his face, raising his wand before a stream of great fire overtook him.  
  
No, she mustn’t think like that. Not when Harry needed her now more than anything else in the world right now. She freshened up as best she could, petting Crookshanks anxiously and staring into the morning November fire as she mentally went through her internal rolodex of spells, trying to think of _something_ that she might have overlooked.  
  
She blinked when Crookshanks leaped off of her, and she already knew who he was after, and her smile quickly turned into something akin to mute horror as she saw her best friend. Harry’s face was pale and sweaty, his hands shaking, and it looked like he had spent all his energy for the day just climbing down the steps. Instantly, she was by his side and carrying him gently towards a chair, uncomfortably aware of how hot he felt. “Harry?” She prodded gently, clearly not willing the obvious.  
  
“M’fine…” He croaked, doubling over and shuddering violently. “Gimme a sec…just…” He convulsed and coughed violently with a low groan.  
  
“If this is fine, I dread to think of what you’re like when actually ill.” She commented, gently guiding him up and out of the common room. “Come on, let’s take you to the bathroom.” _Because I don’t think you’ll make it to the Hospital Wing like this_ , she mentally added.  
  
Of course, just going down one flight of stairs might have been too much for him, but it was a risk she needed to take. He clung onto her tightly, trembling as they slowly made their way down the steps. “That’s it Harry, almost there. Hold it in a little longer.”  
  
He nodded, gasping for breath as she pushed open the door towards the bathrooms. With a burst of speed, he rocketed towards the sink and vomited straight into the basin. She smoothed his hair back for him as last night’s dinner came back up, running the tap so the sick would drain quicker. “There you go, just let it out.”  
  
Harry coughed, retching and dry heaving into the sink. Hermione rubbed his back, feeling her heart break all over at seeing her friend in this state. _Hasn’t he suffered enough?_ She thought angrily to herself.  
  
She didn’t put any credence in the art of divination or fate, but for a moment Hermione was under the impression the universe truly hated Harry Potter, and she couldn’t fathom why. After a few moments of retching, Harry took a deep gulp of air and sighed out. “Thank you.” He croaked.  
  
“Don’t thank me yet, we’re getting you to the Hospital Wing.” He groaned but didn’t argue as he was peeled away from the sink and lead out. “I know how much you hate going there Harry, but you honestly can’t tell me that you shouldn’t.” She chided, brushing some of his sticky hair out of his face.  
  
“Don’t have the strength.” He rasped, leaning heavily on her as they made their slow descent towards Madam Pomfrey, panting heavily as they finally reached the first floor.  
  
“Harry, you’re the strongest person standing in this entire school.” Hermione told him, letting his clammy hand slip into hers and she squeezed it tightly, pushing the doors open. “Madam Pomfrey!” She called out, guilt knawing her insides at Harry’s wince.  
  
The matron was at his side so fast Hermione had to remind herself that teleportation wasn’t allowed in Hogwarts. “Good heavens, you poor boy. What happened this time?” Hermione had the grace to scoff for Harry, who gave a weak noise of protest at the question. Gently, he was eased on one of the beds and what Hermione could only imagine as diagnostic scans being performed. Madam Pomfrey sighed, her face aging suddenly. “Just stress. You’re not the first champion to come to me in this condition Mr. Potter. You’re to take the day off and rest.”  
  
Hermione stepped forward. “Can’t you excuse him from the tournament? Medical emergency?” The look on the nurse’s face told the story for her, and she sighed in defeat. “No, I suppose it’s not going to be that easy. I doubt even if Harry was literally dying, he’d still be forced to compete.”  
  
There was with some satisfaction that Hermione noted the pained expression on the matron’s face. “Yes,” She agreed sadly. “We all wish we could do more for him.” Hermione repressed a snort of disbelief, barely. “But a magically binding contract is one of if not the most powerful oaths taken. The alternative for Mr. Potter not competing is…” She trailed off, and Hermione didn’t need to be told anymore, she herself was starting to feel a little sick at the implication. “Now, enough dawdling, unless you’re sick too Ms. Granger?”  
  
Hermione blinked once. Twice. Then she bent over and let out a cough so fake she thought Madam Pomfrey just might let her in based on the fact no one could’ve produced a sound like that on purpose. “Very sick Madam Pomfrey, dreadfully.”  
  
Clearly, her acting skills needed work. With one stern look, Hermione sighed in defeat and shook her head. “No ma’am, I’m fine.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey cast a few silent spells on Harry, a washcloth coming up to dab at his forehead. “It’s commendable that you wish to stay with Mr. Potter, Miss Granger.” _Because I’m the only one that will._ She thought bitterly, nearly missing what the nurse said next. “But what he needs right now is rest, and that means he’ll be excused from classes today.”  
  
“May I have a note to show to the professors? I have classes with him today, and the least I can do is make sure he’s not docked any points.” She could hear Harry thanking her for taking such meticulous notes later. _Unless he dies tomorrow_. She thought cynically, before accepting the note and thanking her, turning on her heel and walking back to the common room to get her abandoned bag before heading out towards her classes.  
  
History of Magic was, predictably, rather boring. Hermione didn’t even bother handing Professor Binns the note, since she wasn’t even sure that he knew there was even a student missing. Even as she took notes (not on the Goblin Wars, but on what they were _actually_ supposed to be studying), even she couldn’t help but let her mind drift off.  
  
How long would it be until a future generation would be learning about Harry Potter and the Dark Lord Voldemort? There was a bitter, quiet laugh as she bent over her books, quill pressed on a piece of parchment and letting the ink bleed towards the other side at the thought of Harry Potter related questions on an exam.  
  
There was a notable feeling of emptiness as she made her way down to Charms, and it took her a moment of quiet, slow contemplation before she realized that it was the first time since the incident with the troll that she was truly by herself for most of the day.  
  
It struck her how little she truly knew of her peers. She knew everyone’s names and basic, surface level information but could she really call herself a _friend_ to any of them?  
  
She approached Professor Flitwick, handing him the note in silence. The little man scrutinized it for a moment, before tutting and handing it back with a sad headshake. “The poor, poor boy.” He squeaked, and Hermione sunk down next to Neville, offering him a kind little smile.  
  
He smiled back nervously, eyes shifting back and forth across the classroom. “Harry doing alright?” He whispered in a low voice.  
  
It took her a moment to answer, but slowly she nodded her head. “He will be, as much as you can expect I suppose. The stress of the tournament got to him.” Neville gave a sympathetic noise, and perhaps that’s all Hermione could hope for these days, sympathy but not a willingness to _do_ something, anything to help Harry.  
  
_You know the teachers can’t._ She mentally reasoned with herself, scribbling away with notes and wand movements for the charm she was supposed to be learning. She wasn’t paying attention truthfully, going through the motions as she fired back at her own mind. _They should be able to do **something** to help._  
  
_Like Hagrid? Like Sirius?_  
  
Alright, that had her stumped. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. Hagrid had perhaps been the biggest help of all, at least compared to her and their hours of practicing the summoning charm. Sirius… well, based on Harry’s murmured confession, he tried but there was only so much a head in the fireplace could do it seemed.  
  
They mercifully had a break before potions, and she cringed at the idea of what Malfoy would say to the idea of Harry being so sick he could barely move. Neville sat down next to her, piling some food on her plate.  
  
“Neville…” She started slowly, unsurely. He looked over at her, mouth full of ham and cheese sandwich. She suddenly felt extremely nervous, and tugged at her collar awkwardly, glancing up at the enchanted ceiling and wanting to blame the clear skies up above for how hot she suddenly felt. The blush was surely spreading across her face like a wildfire. “Would you say we’re friends?”  
  
Neville paused for a moment, staring off into space while chewing slowly. Eventually, he swallowed and nodded. “I would say so, yeah. Why do you ask?”  
  
Relief and guilt flooded through her, and she nibbled on her own sandwich. “…I was just thinking, is all. Thanks Neville.” She gave him a smile, squeezing his arm. “Would you like to walk to Potions with me?”  
  
There was small, shy little smile back that told Hermione she made the right choice. “Yeah, I’d like that.”  
  
They walked together, Neville quickly getting lost in explaining a particularly difficult portion of Herbology she was struggling with. _He really is good at Herbology._ She noted to herself. It was amazing that he could likely name each and every non-animal ingredient used and what they did but applying them to a potion was too much work.  
  
Of course, with a professor like Snape perhaps that wasn’t too strange.  
  
She thrust the note out to him, chin up and eyes blazing, practically daring the man to say something regarding her best friend’s mental health. His beetle black eyes scanned the paper, before vanishing it with a flick of his wand. “A small mercy.” Was all he said, and she went to sit bye Neville.  
  
Despite the fact they had double potions, Hermione had a fleeting thought that she still had her time turner and had dared to turn the dial forward. With her quiet guidance, Neville’s potion had turned from ‘god awful’ to ‘somewhat acceptable’, which Hermione considered a small miracle. Quickly, she bottled her own potion and set it down on Snape’s desk and cleaned the rest of her stuff out hastily.  
  
“Eager to see Harry?” Neville guessed as Hermione had to stop and let her eyes focus on the task at hand. She took a breath to calm herself and nodded mutely. “I can’t blame you… would you mind if I came along?”  
  
“No, I don’t mind at all. I think he’d enjoy some company that’s not just me.”  
  
“I think you’re selling yourself a little short Hermione.” Neville added, accompanying her up towards the Hospital Wing. “I mean, I’m not… _close_ to Harry but you are. I don’t know what Ron’s deal is, but I can’t even begin to think of what Harry would be like without you there.”  
  
She shuddered, unwilling to entertain that mental line of thought as they pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing.  
  
There Harry sat, upright in his bed and looking much better, spooning in generous helpings of some hot steaming soup that she couldn’t recognize. Together they walked over to him, and he looked up with a smile on his face. She smiled back, sitting down on the bed while Neville took a chair next to him. “Feeling better?”  
  
“Loads.” He agreed, spooning in more soup. “Would it be bad if I said this was the best I’ve felt in a long, long time?”  
  
“Do you really want an answer to that?” He chuckled and went back to his soup. Hermione watched him silently, wondering if this was the last time, she would ever see him alive again. Or would it be tomorrow, screaming in agony as he’s roasted alive by the flames…  
  
Neville, bless him, was her savior in that moment. “So, would you like to know what you missed today? Hermione went through at least 3 rolls of parchment today.”  
  
Harry grimaced, and she smiled gratefully at Neville as she dramatically pulled up her bag and opened it. “Naturally, since you’re feeling better, we can go over the course work you missed. Isn’t that just great?”  
  
Glancing at the bag then Hermione, Harry quickly started coughing and leaning back. “Oh, ahh… I feel pretty weak actually… must be something in the soup. I think Madam Pomfrey gave me some sleeping potion-“  
  
The matron's voice rang out with 'Nice try!' from the other side of the room. Harry sighed and gave Hermione an embarrassed smile. “…Points for trying?”  
  
She suppressed her giggling and opened up the charms homework. “Yes. A big fat zero. So, here’s what you missed… “  
  
They stayed there for the next few hours, until Madam Pomfrey declared that it would be safe going back to his dormitory tonight. The unlikely trio walked back to their dorms, Hermione and Harry sharing a hug before he and Neville disappeared into their respective beds.  
  
Anxious for the future, Harry lay down for what he hoped wasn’t his last night’s rest.


End file.
